entrancelogs

Entry tags:

☢

Who: Toothless, and you (open)
Where: The Fourth Floor.
When: During the pollution event.
Rating: PG
Summary: Yeah, all of this toxic stuff? Not good for dragons. Toothless is feeling a little off.
The Story:

So far, of the so-called 'events', this is the one that Toothless dislikes the most. The clouds are like fog, but they cling to him and make his green eyes sting. A bad smell comes with them, and the clouds are everywhere. Toothless stays in his room as much as possible, but a dragon needs to run if he can't fly. He runs through the mansion and over what ground is tolerable, outside, but retires to his room shortly after every occasion.

Today, he feels worse than usual. What little food he can find won't stay in his stomach, and for some reason the 'closet' (which in his room is a crevasse in the rock) won't give him anything. As someone who can't speak, he finds it frustrating on top of all of the anxiety. Nothing in this place makes sense normally, but now he has to live off of his fat stores? They won't last forever.

Laying in his room doesn't help, so instead he opts to go out for another walk. Sluggishly, slowly, he makes his way, normally brilliant eyes a little glazed.

He hopes this ends, soon.

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Fuminori's not doing great either. He's tried eating the pre-packaged foods he got at the beginning of the event but it's been so long since he ate actual food, pre-packaged or otherwise, that he can't stomach it anymore. Not that he hasn't been trying.

When Toothless happens upon him, Fuminori's half bent over, one hand braced against the wall, throwing up. There isn't much in his stomach and it tastes somehow worse coming up than it did going down, making him continue dry heaving for a moment after his stomach is empty.

Well, Toothless certainly knows how he feels. A great big predator like a Night Fury requires meat, and plenty of it, to keep his energy up. Lately, he hasn't been able to get that. He approaches Fuminori cautiously, nose permanently wrinkled up since the beginning of the event.

Fuminori glances over at him and wipes his mouth on his sleeve before straightening up.

"You don't look so good." From what he can tell.

It's a good assessment. Looking a little queasy, he shakes his head before rumbling in concern.

"Me too."

Fuminori shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I got used to food I can eat."

Toothless longs for those plates of fish that he used to be able to get so readily. Nothing outside is fit enough to eat, anymore. He's learned that the hard way. Cautiously, he approaches Fuminori and nudges him, gently, trying to be comforting.

Fuminori flinches a little at being touched, but after a couple of seconds he puts his hand against Toothless's head. Or he thinks it's his head.

"It shouldn't be much longer, at least."

The Night Fury rumbles, trying to be comforting, and nods. A big indicator that Fuminori does, indeed, have a hand on the dragon's head. If they could just hold out...

"I guess you can't eat the packaged stuff the closets were giving out?"

Reluctantly, Toothless nods, then makes a face. He was having to, but they were less than great for him. They made his stomach upset and left him queasy, in danger of spilling back all of the food he'd taken in.

But sometimes, he manages to keep it in.

"I do have some of that, if you want it." Fuminori's decided he'd rather go without.

The Night Fury shakes his head. He feels queasy enough, at the moment, without adding any of that food into it.

"I know how you feel."

Fuminori removes his hand from Toothless's head and wipes his palm on his pants absently.

"Outside isn't really better than inside right now. Though maybe the roof would be okay."

Toothless nods, again, and then sits down, letting out a big sigh. It wasn't good, but at least it was above the worst of the strange clouds. Sometimes there was a hint of freshness. Just a hint, but it reminded Toothless that this would end. Hopefully.

Fuminori glances around and coughs into his arm for a moment.

"There's so much waiting here."

He finally crouches next to Toothless and runs a hand through his hair.

"Too much."

The Night Fury rumbles in a comforting way. Or he tries. At least Toothless has his fat stores to live on, for a while. As far as he can tell, Vikings don't really have those. So the Vikings will have to wait for everything to pass, and hopefully their food will hold out long enough.

Fuminori stays in that posture for some time, not speaking. He likes that about being around Toothless--Toothless isn't human and doesn't communicate in a voice that's supposed to sound human. There's nothing distorted about him, even though Fuminori knows that what he's seeing isn't Toothless's real form.

Toothless is content to keep him company, and receive company in return. It's a little like being with the other dragons in the mountain, when Toothless had wanted someone to be around. Most of the Vikings like to talk. And talk...

Reyson gathered his wings closely about him as he made his way through the hall; beorc buildings always made him feel claustrophobic, no matter how large they were. He had attempted to see if he could dispel some of the miasma earlier, but the air made his throat feel raw and painful, and it hadn't worked very well in any case.

He was not expecting to run into a wyvern. Out of reflex, he backed away, body tensed for flight. Daein's black wyvern riders were a fearsome force, and the speed of their charges was matched only by the ferocity of their axes. Reyson saw no rider here, but that didn't mean they weren't close by.

"Stay back," he warned the creature, though he supposed that if it really wanted a chunk of Heron, he'd have to rely on his luck in order to get away safely.

Toothless gave the Viking an unimpressed, queasy look. He wasn't even sure he had enough energy to protect Hiccup, if Hiccup had come along, much less to attack a Viking. But he supposed he would need to summon some, just in case this Viking went on the offensive. Toothless had no qualms about defending himself.

He rumbled, deep in his throat, grumpy.

What, no warning shriek? No biting?

Reyson took quick stock of their surroundings, but there wasn't much to hit it over the head with, even if he were used to hitting things over the head.

"Your country and mine may be at war," he said, eyeing it doubtfully, "But as we both find ourselves here, I suggest a temporary truce. Unless, of course, your knight prefers Ashera's silence."

Could Daein wyverns understand common speech? He wasn't sure, but Haar's beast seemed clever enough.

His... wait, what was a knight?

The Night Fury sat down, peering at Reyson in a way that was visibly confused -- while still queasy. There were only Vikings around here, not... knights. Whatever those were. But because a truce is a peaceable sort of thing, Toothless nodded to the idea of it.

Anything so that he wouldn't have to expend unnecessary energy trying to defend himself.

Reyson allowed himself a brief swell of relief. Though wyverns preferred to let their riders do most of the fighting (mostly in the form of embedding horrible axes in people) he had no doubt that they could do considerable damage on their own. And it seemed to understand him, which was far better than expected.

"I am Reyson of Serenes Forest. I don't suppose you know the way back to the Tower of Guidance?"

That didn't sound familiar at all. Toothless shook his head. He didn't know of any towers in this mansion, or on its grounds. And he'd even been flying, with D'Artagnan on his back; surely he would have seen it, he figured. The Night Fury blinked, watching Reyson with a less preoccupied gaze. Why was he trying to find a tower?

"I thought not," Reyson said with a sigh. Perhaps he could ask around, see if anyone else knew anything.

In any case, he took this opportunity to give Toothless a once-over. Certainly not the most vocal of mounts -- perhaps that had to do with the atmosphere around here. "As you can see, I am a Heron. I could try and help you with some of your discomfort, if you'd like."

He tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes wide. How could he help? Toothless is just miserable enough that asking for help doesn't offend his pride. He moved closer and rumbled, curiously.

"Perhaps," said Reyson, looking a little unsure, "Er. Not so close, if you don't mind."

He shifted into his heron form, the better to widen his range, then began to sing. The Galdr of Bliss, under normal circumstances, brought its recipient back to top form, sharpening abilities and temporarily soothing battle fatigue; hopefully it would have a similar effect here.

Toothless stopped, and even backed up a few steps when the Viking became a... wait, did he just become a bird?

But that was soon out of his mind, or at least mostly out of his mind, because the queasiness was gently eased from him, leaving him feeling mostly back to normal. Toothless purred, unable to help himself.

Was this wyvern purring like... well, like a Cat laguz? Reyson returned to his human form, smiling a little despite himself. "Well, I suppose you're not so bad. And I'm glad one of us is feeling better."

Now that he had a chance to look at the animal more closely, Toothless looked different from most of the wyverns that he'd see thus far (though admittedly he'd never really allowed many to get that close -- across the battlefield was near enough, thank you). Jill's and Haar's both had longer necks, with more horns and more slender limbs. This one had a short, compact build, with legs that ended in what seemed almost like paws. Still, the ones he'd known were varied enough.

Reyson's stomach growled. He looked around, trying to conceal his embarrassment. "...I don't suppose there's anything to eat around here? I don't imagine food would taste very good in this atmosphere, but I skipped breakfast."

Eurgh, food. The Night Fury shook his head. As far as he knew, some of the closets were the only way to get rations. And maybe they'd run out by now, he wasn't sure. Toothless sat down, though, distracted by the Viking's change into a humanoid form again. How did he do that?

Reyson sighed, and put a hand on his hip. "I thought not."

Then he looked up at Toothless, noticing the sudden change in body language. "Why the stare? Surely you've seen a laguz before. It's not like we're uncommon."

Although he supposed his specific tribe was looking extinction in the face.

Toothless shook his head again, large eyes taking him in. You'd better believe you're uncommon, his green gaze seemed to wryly imply. If the Vikings were capable of transforming into birds, back home, he would have seen one by now in his raids.

"Perhaps I have been mistaken," said Reyson, thoughtfully. "And you are not part of Daein's war effort. Otherwise, you would have seen one of my brothers or sisters before."

Because enough had certainly died at their hands.

Well, so far so good. Perhaps Reyson ought to extend an olive branch. He raised a hand. "I've met one or two of your kin before, and they seemed to enjoy a scratch behind the head. Are you partial to the same?"

There is a prod to Toothless' mind. Castiel isn't on the same floor right now - he's outside, scouting, trying to find a source for this, something to fight, anything that allows him to be proactive. Not that he has much hope, but Castiel dislikes the useless waiting he is confined to so often in this place.

The prod is coming from some distance away, but there is concern behind it. Castiel is worried about his draconic friend. The angel imagines someone depending on fresh food, this particular situation must be very hard to handle.

Toothless' head rears up, and he looks sharply up and down the hallway. Nothing's there, just like a few moments ago, except he felt something. It was familiar, but still strange; not something he can put a paw on, immediately.

He rumbles, sitting down. Sitting down feels better, anyway.

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Backtagging like a madman \o/

ilu backtagging madman